


who tells our story

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Star!Jaskier, i promise i only rip off stardust a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: “I’m the star! The one that fell from the sky just now? Or are you so dense that you can’t follow the trail of smoke? Honestly.”Geralt has heard of stories about falling stars making their way to earth. At the time, it sounded like a fairytale. Standing in front of Jaskier now, he’s still pretty firmly standing in that camp. “Bullshit.”“Oh?” Jaskier begins to glow. Literally glow. His shine intensifies until Geralt must close his eyes and look away. “Is this proof enough for you? Or should I do something even more spectacular?”-Hellbent on shaping the newest constellation, Jaskier the star follows Geralt across the continent looking for the best story.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 223
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	who tells our story

**Author's Note:**

> OMG it's finally here. I have been thinking about this, working on this, and procrastinating this story for MONTHS. I'd like to thank @arodoesnthavealife/@help-idontknowwhattodraw for being PATIENT AF with me. She created the piece that inspired this fic. And I'd also like to thank @verobatto for also being patient with me because I almost always turned shit in late. <3 
> 
> but it's here on TIME thank you thank you thank you

Geralt does not so much as stargaze as he does look up at the night sky.

The last few days had been filled with contracts that only the beginning of the season could promise. With the summer as lucrative as it is, there have been few nights as relaxing as this one has been. He will not waste it.

A rare phenomenon blesses him in the form of a meteor shower. Six or seven, all at once begin falling.

If he were the type of person to believe in such fantasies, he might make a wish. But even if he did, Geralt isn’t sure what he’d wish for. A new sword? A better saddle for Roach?

Thoughts of fancy grow dimmer as the stars grow brighter and brighter.

One in particular seems to be headed in his direction.

Slowly, Geralt gets up off of the grass, observing the strange dance.

But the wonders of it all turn to danger when he’s in the path of a star, hurtling at speeds unknown.

Geralt ducks down and readies a quen. He can feel the heat of the star passing overhead. For a single moment, he feels as though he’s on fire. The moment passes.

Then the world trembles beneath his feet, an explosion going off in the distance.

Again, he stands and looks behind him. A mile away, maybe two, smoke rises from the trees. Bits of fire start going out in the nearby trees. What truly gives him pause is the feeling of his medallion vibrating against his chest.

Before he knows it, he’s standing above the crater, looking down at the mass destruction caused by a single star’s falling.

In the middle of the wreckage is a man.

Without further thought, Geralt slides down into the crater. His medallion continues to vibrate, and the movement is more powerful the closer he gets to the center. He touches the hilt of his silver sword as he creeps towards the man.

The stranger is wearing a silver outfit made of something akin to silk. He struggles upwards, leaning against the palms of his hands and huffs out a sigh, blowing the wavy brown hair out of his face.

“That wasn’t _nearly_ as much fun as I thought it was going to be.”

Geralt blinks.

“Oh! You’re here! Well, that certainly makes things easier.” The man stands, then wobbles on his feet. Geralt almost reaches out to steady him, but is still unclear as to what the fuck he’s dealing with. “I promise, I tried to land as close to you without actually killing you. Mission accomplished, I suppose. You don’t have a scratch on you, Geralt.”

His grip tightens on his sword. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jaskier.” A pause. “You know, I’m the- ugh. Really?” His expression twists into something akin to shock and disgust. “You mean you don’t _know?_ ” He lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m the star! The one that fell from the sky just now? Or are you so dense that you can’t follow the trail of smoke? Honestly.”

Geralt has heard of stories about falling stars making their way to earth. At the time, it sounded like a fairytale. Standing in front of Jaskier now, he’s still pretty firmly standing in that camp. “Bullshit.”

“Oh?” Jaskier begins to glow. Literally glow. His shine intensifies until Geralt must close his eyes and look away. “Is this proof enough for you? Or should I do something even more spectacular?”

“That’s enough.” Geralt growls. He can still see the bright orange light behind his eyelids. It does start to fade. When it’s safe to look, Jaskier is starting to head towards the edge of the crater.

“You know, I figured a witcher would know the stories. Having studied for so long in that dreary keep of yours.” He studies the high wall of the crater. “Yeesh. Give me a hand here, will you? I’d prefer not to dirty my clothes so soon. Clothes, by the way? Amazing. Love them very much. Do you think we could visit a tailor at some point on our adventure?”

“Our?”

“Yes! Our adventures. This is how it begins, Geralt: our stories. Being immortalized and made famous.” Jaskier looks over his shoulder and grins. “Our constellation!”

Geralt frowns and shakes his head.

He should have taken those fairy tales a little more seriously.

-

Jaskier follows him all the way back to camp, talking nonsense about constellations, stories, and a competition with his siblings.

“All of us, all seven- including yours truly, are out scouring the continent, all looking for the best story!”

Geralt lays out his bed roll. Places his swords by the side, unwilling to let go of them just yet.

“The one with the best story, one sure to inspire for generations to come not only gets to choose the shape of the constellation, but that star will get to shine the brightest!” Jaskier clasps his hands together and sighs. “Which will be me, of course. I didn’t start doing my research shortly after the last constellation was born for _nothing_.”

_“_ Research?” Geralt’s eyebrows draw together.

Jaskier turns in place before frowning. “The grass looks wet. And cold. While I’m looking forward to new and novel experiences, I’m still enjoying these clothes,” He inches closer to Geralt. “So, scoot over! That bed roll looks big enough for the two of us. Probably.”

Geralt doesn’t move, but Jaskier somehow finds the space to sit beside him anyway.

“Ah, that’s better. Who knew that sitting would be a necessity? I think I’m tired, Geralt. Can you explain to me how it feels? Just so I’m sure?”

“Like someone is talking your ear off and won’t go away.”

Jaskier tsks. “I wouldn’t be rude to someone who is trying to tell your story. Remember: generations to come!”

“I don’t want to be in your stories.”

An offended squawk pierces his ears. If there are any monsters in these parts, they know exactly where to find the two of them now. He turns to Jaskier and glares.

“I am offering to you the gift of a lifetime and here you are being rude.” Jaskier crosses his arms and holds his nose up in the air. “Imagine, if you have the capability, what this could do for your career. More respect, more allowances, and yes, even more coin.”

_That_ gets Geralt’s attention. He’s been living off the land for a few months now. After Blaviken, it’s been more difficult than usual to find any sort of service. One way he’s been barred from inns, whorehouses, and even a few blacksmiths is the pricing: nearly all of them have doubled it for witchers.

“What would you need?”

Next tohim, Jaskier slowly turns his head, and smiles. “All I require is for you to continue as you are- with me at your side, of course. Watching from above was wonderful, but now I’m ready to see it with my own eyes.”

Geralt takes a deep, steadying breath. “You could get hurt.”

“Not with you there to protect me!”

“I might die.”

“Pff. Not you. I’ve seen how the great Butcher of Blaviken operates!”

Geralt pushes him over hard enough to fall into the wet grass.

“ _Ow._ Again with the rudeness. Someone is in desperate need of an image update. Not to worry: Jaskier-the-Star is on the case. Now, move over. I am almost positive that I am tired. I mean, I have traveled for millions of miles to get here. If anyone here has earned a sleep, it’s me.”

As Geralt turns over in his bedroll, he begins to wonder if any amount of coin will be worth the constant annoyance Jaskier has promised to provide.

-

Jaskier asks hundreds of questions. There seems to be little Geralt can do to put an end to them; even ignoring the inquiries does little to deter the star.

"I mean, we must have been walking for hours now, Geralt,” Jaskier complains. “Surely there must be a monster for you to slay nearby.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

“There must be something!” He turns in place, looking all around the empty fields and long winding roads.

Geralt hums. “Thought you’ve been watching me.”

A sharp sigh. “Well, yes. But things are different at home. There’s not much else to do but listen to old stories, look forward to our very own journey to the Continent, or if you’ve already done that- watch the Continent.” Jaskier holds out his arms. “Now that I’m here I thought that things would be more fast-paced.”

“Depends on the day.”

“A warning would have been nice.”

Maybe if he gets bored enough, Jaskier will leave him well enough alone. 

-

At the end of their first day, they get close enough to a village that they, hypothetically, could stay at the inn. Jaskier insists that that do so.

“Why aren’t we going there?”

“The villagers believe witchers will steal their children.” Geralt begins to gather firewood. Better to get this ready now before the sun goes down.

"What, really?” Jaskier laughs. “That’s ridiculous!”

There’s no use arguing it. Geralt has met enough superstitious people to know that nothing changes their mind. It’s better to stay here and camp.

“I’m going to talk to them.”

Geralt looks up to see Jaskier marching towards the village. He snorts and shakes his head. If that’s how the star wishes to spend his limited time on the Continent, that’s his business. It will give him at least twenty minutes of silence. With practiced ease, he finishes setting up camp in no time at all. Leaving him much like he was yesterday: lying on his bedroll and watching the stars.

Now he wonders how many might be watching him.

His life, ordinarily private, on full display among creatures he has never met before.

Once he returns to Kaer Morhen, he’ll be doing more research on stars. Given time, he could write his own entry in his personal bestiary. He imagines he’ll be able to do so in the morning, when Jaskier is likely to sleep until the sun is shining high in the sky.

Sooner than he would have expected, Jaskier comes sauntering back. Looking far too pleased with himself, he clicks his heels together and lifts his chin. “You best pack your bags, witcher. We have a room to stay in tonight, thanks to yours truly,” He wraps an arm around his middle and bows with a flourish.

“What did you do?”

Jaskier snaps up, frowning. “I just told you! I got you a room!”

“What did you do to the _villagers_?”

“How dare you!” The star begins to shine. Bright and angry, turning night into day around them. Alerting anyone in the distance far and wide for the second night in a row. “Here I am, curing you of your sour reputation, and you are insinuating that I what-- bewitched villagers?”

Geralt stands up. A few miles away, an animal stirs. It’s big, but tired still. He holds out a hand, hoping that Jaskier interprets the gesture as either a signal to calm down, or something more.

“If you’re so worried about the dangers that lurk in the woods, Geralt, then you’ll just follow me back to the lovely room I negotiated for us.” He looks back at Jaskier, who has since crossed his arms and begun to pout. “I’ve sworn to stay by your side until I go back home, but I will be deeply crossed if I miss out on the experience of a bath.”

Imagining an ancient being throwing a temper tantrum is somehow more troubling than walking into a village filled with people who hate him. He sighs and begins to pack his camp up.

-

To his great surprise, the villagers are too busy looking at Jaskier to even spare a glance at the great and monstrous witcher. “These people love stories, Geralt,” Jaskier explains. “They believe in the tales that trickle in from those who wander. Simply devour them. So, who better to tell them stories than one of the original story tellers? Can you think of one better? Hm?”

Geralt is starting to learn that there is no one who can spin a story quite so well as Jaskier.

Still, he keeps an eye on everyone around them. All it would take is one emboldened asshole. Even untrained, this many people attacking would cause problems.

It’s easier to focus on that rather than Jaskier’s constant chatter.

Jaskier chatters all the way to the tavern. Then, all the way up the stairs. He talks as he lays down on one of two beds in the room.

Quietly, Geralt is proud that he’s managed to tune out nearly every single thing his new companion has said.

“And that is why, of course, my brother lost out on the coveted spot of The Sorceress. Her shining eye. Do you know that constellation, Geralt?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier scoffs. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t wear yourself out there. I’m sure it’s simply exhausting for you to emote so much all at once,” He sighs. “D’you know, they’re willing to give you a contract? It’s only a smelly old waterhag though. So disappointing. Not at all worthy of the night sky. There needs to be something... something _grand_. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll take care of the waterhag.”

“Nothing more... glamorous?”

“There’s nothing _glamorous_ about the Path.” Geralt grits out. “The Path is the Path. If you don’t like it, you can go.”

Another sigh. “Well, someone is grouchy. Fine. A waterhag it is. We have plenty of time to find something better than that anyway.”

Thankfully, he’s interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. “Oh! That must be the bath. This is so exciting. I’m going first. You’ve had plenty of baths- Well, okay. Maybe not _plenty_ , but certainly more than I’ve ever had.”

Geralt closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose.

-

In the morning, Jaskier is still asleep, snoring softly into his pillow. For someone who has never slept before, he has certainly taken a liking to resting.

If Geralt leaves now, he can avoid babysitting a starstruck demigod while he works.

With his mind made up, Geralt dresses. It’s a good thing he didn’t bathe last night. Waterhags are nasty dirty things. Would have been a waste to indulge in something so temporary.

Gathering his equipment, he steps towards the door. He pauses. Turns. And then he finds himself looking at Jaskier again. Would he still be here when Geralt returned? Odds are, something else might catch his fancy. There must be other things on the Continent worthy of becoming a constellation. Certainly something more ‘glamorous’.

It would be for the best.

Except when he returns from the hunt, Jaskier is waiting for him.

In brand new clothes.

“Do you like them?” He asks, posing. A light blue doublet with matching trousers. Fine details along the cuffs and collar. Geralt would suspect it’d cost a fortune under normal circumstances.

“What did you do?”

An indignant scoff. “You know, I’m beginning to think you don’t believe I only ever have the best of intentions.” Jaskier places his hands on his hips. “This was a _gift_. Do you know when the last time an actual star visited these people? Do you?”

Without answering him, Geralt begins to gather his things.

“Never. Never ever. And they are grateful that they shall be apart of the grand and sweeping story of Geralt of Rivia: the White Wolf.”

Geralt turns back to Jaskier and grimaces.

“What? I thought you’d like it. You’re not exactly gung ho on the butcher thing. And besides, we need to workshop the name of your constellation. Last minute decisions rarely prove to be the best.”

Somehow, Geralt very much doubts that all of Jaskier’s plans are as well thought out as the he might believe. “Grab your stuff and get ready. I won’t wait for you.”

He leaves the tavern and heads towards the alderman to collect his coin.

It’s a short distance from the tavern. No more than a five-minute walk. Yet he can already tell that the town’s overall opinion of him has shifted. Not by a lot, but enough to ease the suspicion in their eyes.

Whether it’s a relief or a cause of worry is yet to be seen.

He reaches the alderman’s house and is handed a small bag of coins. It’s not nearly what the hunt is worth. Geralt looks up at the alderman, ready to wield his gaze like one might a sword. “Witcher,” he’s told. “You’re lucky this is what you’re getting.”

Geralt snatches the coin from the man’s hand and walks out. Things aren’t so different after all.

**-**

It’s odd, walking the Path with someone by his side. Not bad. But different. Jaskier manages to keep up with Roach pretty well. He’s also got plenty of ideas on what monsters Geralt should be hunting.

“That’s not how it works,” Geralt tries to explain for what feels like the thousandth time. “I take contracts as they come.”

“Yes, yes. The boring way. You do understand we’re on a bit of a time crunch, don’t you? Three weeks.”

Three weeks until Geralt will be free to walk the Path as it should be walked. Alone.

Eventually, they come to a different town. Under normal circumstances, Geralt wouldn’t have bothered charging ahead the way that he is now. But Jaskier is excited, and Geralt can’t quite deny that there is a certain charm to someone appreciating what witchers do. Even if it’s through a romanticized lens.

He finds a contract on a lower vampire.

It comes as no surprise that Jaskier finds it the least elegant and unsexiest monster for him to spin into some sort of tale, but he tags along regardless. Geralt heads into the woods, silver sword ready.

“Honestly, I thought vampires would be sexier. It really is such a shame there are no higher vampires in the area.”

Geralt shushes him.

“What? It’s the daytime. Vampires can’t crawl out into the sunlight, can they?”

Geralt ignores him. There’s a cave. It’s mouth a dripping, jagged thing. Inside the monster awaits. Sleeping, hungry, and vulnerable. If there’s any time to kill it, it’s now. He reaches for his potions. Cat will do. Though, he’s not looking forward to dealing with coming down from the effects. As a witcher, he already has sensitive eyes. The potion will double that sensitivity. At this time of day, it will burn like a mother fucker.

“Wait!”

He pauses, the vial inches from his lips.

“You don’t need that at all, do you. You have me.”

“What.”

“Hello? Star?” Beneath Jaskier’s skin, there’s a warm glow. A second sun, here on the Continent. Before he gets too bright, he dims the shine. “No need for any smelly old potions, don’t you think?”

It would save him some materials, but it would also create a liability. Geralt weighs the options. The light could stun the vampire. “Stay out of the way. Run when I tell you to. _Don’t_ do anything stupid.”

Jaskier grins. “Yes, Mr. Grumpy Pants. One star, coming right up!” And as they enter the cave, he begins to light up the entire world.

The Cat potion leaves the world looking black and white and varying shades of gray. With Jaskier’s ability to light up the world the way that he does, the cave has a sort of beauty. Glossy rocks, lush looking moths and herbs, and lost treasures left behind by adventure seekers. Jaskier, too, takes in all the sights, oohing and aahing at each and every little thing.

The oohing and aahing ended quickly when Geralt found the vampire and beheaded it in its sleep. He takes out a knife and begins to carve out his trophy to ensure he’ll be paid this time.

All the while, Jaskier makes gagging noises in the background. He even dims his light making it harder to see.

“Good,” he says. “No one needs to see _that_.”

“ _I_ do.” Geralt argues.

The light shines once more, and Geralt is able to finish off the contract without complications.

As they walk back to the town, Jaskier starts working out the story out loud, changing details here and there. “It’s a shame the beast was asleep,” he rattles on. “I think I’ll mention an epic battle. A silver sword against the long ivory of a vampire’s fangs. It glinted in the moonlight-”

“That’s not what happened.”

Jaskier waves him off. “All stories are a little bit exaggerated. It’s what the story is _about_ that’s important. Understand?”

“No.”

He lets Jaskier blabber on despite this and begins to tune him out.

When entering the village once more, Geralt looks at the villagers. Really sees them. Their crops weren’t bountiful this year, and it shows in the hollowness of their cheeks and the bags under their eyes. The children aren’t running around and playing, nor are the villagers moving with the energy they should be.

One family in particular stands out, just at the edge of the village. He sees a little boy with red hair curled up in his mother’s arms. She’s tired, resting her head against her sons. And she’s rocking back and forth, singing a song, keeping the hungry child soothed.

Geralt watches for a moment longer before continuing deeper into the village. The alderman’s house sits on a hill, overlooking the people. Aren’t they always watching over the population?

“It’s not as big as I thought it’d be. The whole house. Or this village. I thought things would be... well. Bigger than this.”

“You were watching from afar.”

“In your terms, maybe. Come on then, let’s finish this part of the story so we can move onto the next!”

He’s more than happy to do just that.

Entering the alderman’s home, he notices a few things. As always, it’s a more lavish estate than anything else below. Art hangs on the wall. The few knights that are present are dressed in well made armor. Nothing as fine as what the alderman himself is wearing, of course.

Geralt stands tall and walks forward, narrowing his eyes. In one hand, he carries the contract. In the other, a dripping sack stuffed with vampire visera.

This, at least, sets the alderman on edge. It shouldn’t be as satisfying as it is to watch the man squirm under his gaze. No one wants to be scrutinized by a mutant, after all. “It’s done then? You killed the beast?”

Geralt places the bloody sack on the table.

“Oh. Erm. Yes, that’s very good. Thank you.” The alderman winces at the sight before reaching for a small bag. “I hope this is enough?” He squeaks out.

The bag isn’t as heavy as he was hoping. It never is. He hums and gives one last look at the official before leaving. Threatening a man over pay isn’t going to do him any good. Nor will it improve how witchers are viewed in the world.

But then Jaskier steps forward.

“In what world is that enough?”

“Jaskier-”

“No world. Let me tell you that. This man-” He points a finger towards Geralt. “Has risked _his_ life to save your village. Something that you haven’t done for your _own_ people, I should mention. Now! If you wouldn’t like to be made infamous, I suggest you pay him for what he’s worth.”

The alderman sneers, though the intensity is dimmed by the scent of fear hanging in the air. “That is what it’s worth.”

Jaskier glowers. Then, he begins to glow. For the first time, the light does not feel warm. Instead, it’s impersonal and powerful: like the flash of a bomb. If the alderman was afraid of Geralt, it’s nothing compared to the fear that shows on his face now.

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry. Here. Just- take it and go. Please!” As the light diminishes, leaving a smiling, self-satisfied Jaskier, another bag is placed in front of them. This time, it looks heavier.

“Thank you ever so much for your understanding. I do hope we don’t have any further miscommunications in the future.” He smiles, turns on his heel, and whistles as he walks out the door.

Geralt watches the space he occupied for a moment longer. He shoots a quick look at the alderman, then leaves as well.

In town, people stare at them. They must have seen the light shine from the windows.

“Here you are, Geralt. I _should_ be charging you a percentage for this. Not only did I help you see in that gods-forsaken cave, but I also managed to get you paid in the first place,” He hands the rest of the coins to Geralt.

Twice now, he’s been paid. They could potentially stay in the village, sleep in the nearest inn. Bathe. But Jaskier is already blazing forward, onto the next job. 

Before they skip town, however, Geralt makes sure to leave some money with the family he had passed earlier that day. Poverty is a beast he cannot kill, but one he hopes to keep at bay for at least a night.

-

The next day they do stay at an inn. Jaskier definitely needs something of a cool off after getting so heated with the alderman. Geralt had tried to explain that shit like that was commonplace. If a witcher didn’t have hardened skin, they were likely to get distracted and die sooner rather than later anyway.

This did not help the situation. Jaskier talked about what an injustice it was for miles.

No one has given a shit about witcher welfare like this before. Not even other witchers.

Against his will, he finds himself liking Jaskier. His ambitions to tell his story have expanded from telling the best story about Geralt to doing good for all witchers. (While still focusing on Geralt, of course.) And though he still wants to win his competition and remain the most famous and brightest star in the sky, it’s clear that he’s sincere in his goal to lighten the witchers’ burdens.

“Finally! Some real food!” Then again, he still hasn’t learned how to read a gods damned room. Jaskier sits across from him, a plate of meats, cheeses, and a small portion of vegetables sit in front of him. “I appreciate everything you gave to me while we were on the road Geralt, I really do, but it got repetitive. And frankly it didn’t have flavor.”

“You think _that’s_ going to have flavor?” Geralt looks at the plate. His own stomach groans at the sight. He reaches out and grabs a bit of cheese and shoves it in his mouth before Jaskier has the chance to snatch it back. Unfortunately, he does have to endure the near shriek of indignance.

“If it has no flavor you can keep your hands to yourself! Absolute cretin.” Jaskier sticks his tongue out. “Now. Where was I? Ah!” He takes some dry meat with his fingers and brings it to his mouth. Then he closes his eyes and moans. “That’s so good. Oh, gods. Geralt, why don’t you cook like this?”

Geralt stares for a moment too long before remembering himself. He clears his throat and says, “You can buy spices if you want. I’m not wasting the coin.”

“Is _living_ a waste of coin? Geralt. You poor thing. Here, I’ll share because I am an altruist. You’re welcome.” Jaskier slides the plate so that it’s in the middle.

Considering it was Geralt’s money that bought them the food, and Geralt’s work that earned them the money, he doesn’t think this constitutes as sharing. But he thanks the star regardless.

That evening, he’s approached to take a contract on a griffin that’s been terrorizing the local farms. No one else had been brave enough to approach the beast.

Jaskier claps his hands together. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about! Geralt, say yes.”

As if Geralt was going to do anything else.

-

Strange what becomes routine.

Pulling Jaskier out of bed in the mornings. Threatening to leave him behind when he lingers at breakfast. Listening to him complain for the first bit of the hunt. Waiting for his grumblings to turn to excitement.

These are all things Geralt expects of his days now.

He doesn’t hate it as much as he thought it would. That worries him. Something else to bury away. That has long been part of his routine as a witcher.

It helps him to concentrate on the contract.

Not that he needs to exert a lot of energy to figure out what’s happening.

Geralt leans close to the ground to inspect further. There are claw marks in the ground. Blood leading upwards, into the hills. Bits of animal strewn about carelessly. It was indeed a hungry griffin. He looks to the sky. Hopefully it’s not mated.

“Well?”

“It’s a griffin.”

“I already knew that!”

“Don’t ask then.”

Jaskier harrumphs and crosses his arms. “You’re really useless. It’s a good thing I’m here, then. Shall we hunt a griffin?”

“You’ll be staying back,” Geralt says.

By now he should have known that the routine has somewhat changed. That despite all of his warnings that Jaskier would do whatever he wanted to do. Each step up the hill was filled with questions about the monster.

He should be grateful that Jaskier has learned to be quiet when Geralt gives him the ‘if you don’t shut up now we could both die’ look. Small favors.

It’s a normal hunt for him, with a fight to the death between him and a large monster. It’s a new normal with Jaskier hiding not too far away, scribbling in a notebook that must have been gifted to him recently.

Normal: carving out the heart of the beast.

New normal: getting paid what he’s fucking worth.

Starting it all again, by walking towards the next town and the next contract. No matter what new habits and routines are formed, the Path is always waiting for him.

He supposes it isn’t so bad that he has company now. 

Even if that is temporary.

When he returns to get his coin, he finds the bag is light. But one look at the farmer and Geralt knows that they couldn’t afford anymore.

It’s easier to push the money back into their hands without Jaskier in the room.

Instead, the farmer tells him of a tavern not too far from here that will serve them for a reduced price. Their cousin works there. It’s more than enough to compensate for his work.

-

The tavern is full, more than any other the two of them had stayed in thus far. He grimaces at the sight of the crowd, the scents and sounds already giving him a headache. Geralt turns to Jaskier, planning to tell him they need to leave and find somewhere less irritating to stay when he sees the look on the star’s face.

“There are so many people here. And look!” Jaskier points at the stage. A young woman is setting up for a show; an instrument on her lap and a bright smile to lure in the crowd. Lure them in she does as a hush falls upon them.

Geralt doesn’t much care for music. It's often too loud. The tunes will get stuck in his head for weeks on end. It’s even worse when the lyrics are annoying. Roach never appreciated his humming on the road, and she’s not about to start.

“I’ve never heard live music before. Well, I mean, I suppose I have. But again, the _distance_.” He lets out a dreamy sigh. “I never thought that it would be so different. Here, I’m going to get a table up close. Will you be joining me, or would you prefer to sit in the back and brood?”

“Brood.” Geralt replies with a shrug.

“I shan’t stop you! We’ll eat together after. Something smells good. Or, at least, I think it smells good. Still getting the hang of using a nose.” Without waiting for Geralt to say anything, Jaskier heads as close to the stage as the crowd allows. Then he shoves aside other members of the audience. It doesn’t look like he gives a damn about their words of protest either.

Geralt smiles and shakes his head before heading to the back of the tavern. People move out of their way, unwilling to touch a witcher even in passing. He finds a table easily enough. It’ll likely be a while before the crowd clears. Jaskier also mentioned something about eating together. Might as well wait until the bard on stage finishes her set.

As she starts to play something upbeat that the patrons know all the words to, his eyes drift from her to Jaskier.

He’s swaying along to the music. Occasionally, he will look around to watch the crowd sing along. His heartbeat is elevated and there’s a flush on his cheeks.

It shouldn’t be surprising that a storyteller would gravitate towards music. Geralt just didn’t expect that Jaskier would look as happy as he does now. Even when talking about becoming the brightest star in the wolf’s eye, he doesn’t quite smile the way he is now. And he smiles like that for the rest of the show.

Geralt can’t name the reason he watches Jaskier. Nor can he make himself look away. He frowns. Then he decides that drinking isn’t part of dinner and gets up to order an ale.

-

After the show, people start to leave. They either exit the tavern to go back home, or they slink to the bar for an extra drink. Geralt is the latter. Having already had two skeins of ale, Geralt waits for Jaskier to return. He isn’t exactly wanting for coin, but he doesn’t want to waste everything he has for a small buzz, if that.

Though he is getting tempted to order food. Jaskier is chatting with the pretty young bard. The two of them are sitting at the edge of the stage. She’s showing him her lute. Geralt can hear him ask her question after question, all pertaining to the instrument and telling stories.

She entertains him well enough, answering each question with a small and patient smile. At some point she even hands the delicate lute to him. The bard takes Jaskier’s hands, manipulates his fingers over the strings, and nods her head.

Jaskier strums his fingers, playing his first chord. He looks up from his hands and over to the bard and grins. Light starts to shine from beneath his skin. This seems to surprise the girl- and Jaskier as well. He looks at his arms then his expression scrunches up into something that one might describe concentration. The light fades, but the joy does not.

The bard shows Jaskier a few different chords which he seems to pick up easily. Exhaustion starts to show on the young woman’s face, and even Jaskier’s infectious attitude can’t keep her close. He slowly hands the lute back. Then he leans over and kisses her forehead. Light shines where he places his lips for a moment. She touches her head and asks him what that was about.

“A blessing. You’ll find your path easier to walk, my dear. Use the advantage well.”

After stuttering out a thank you, the bard packs up her things and leaves to go to sleep.

Finally, Jaskier returns to Geralt’s side. “ _What_ a performance. Can you believe that, Geralt? Everyone here knew all the words to the songs. They clapped along. Became _part_ of the story. Isn’t that incredible?” He sighs and leans his head against Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt frowns and glares at the top of Jaskier’s head.

“It would take years of practice to master the lute. Did you know that? I mean I did, but the tips of my fingers already sting. I would need to develop calluses.” Jaskier holds out the palm of his hand.

It looks soft. He’s never had to worry about manual labor. Not in the way mortals on the Continent have. With a little over two weeks left before he has to return to the sky, there won’t be time to truly harden the skin.

“Are there no songs in the sky?”

“Hm.” Jaskier puts his hand back down on the table. Geralt ponders what the delicate looking fingers would feel like entwined with his own. Fanciful thoughts seem to be contagious. He shoves it deep down inside of him. “Not the way mortals do it. Nor the way animals sing. It’s something you can’t hear. Not even a witcher could hear the kinds of poems a star could tell.”

If he had thought about it for a moment, Geralt likely would have guessed that was the case. It doesn’t make the answer any less disappointing.

-

With the sun setting as low as it is, Geralt knows that it’s time to stop.

The next town is too far away to get to until tomorrow, if that. And besides, Geralt has been looking forward to a moment of peace. Even Jaskier seems to be enjoy the prospect of a night out in the countryside.

The find a house by a lake, recently abandoned by the looks of it. Not only is it a nice dry place to sleep for the night, there’s also a boat tied at the dock.

Jaskier is the first to approach it, of course. “Can we go in?” Jaskier asks. “I won’t be able to reach the coast in time, like I had hoped. This… this seems like a good alternative.”

The star had never mentioned any desire to go to the coast. Geralt wishes that he had, even if he wasn’t able to fulfill his wish. “Don’t see a reason why not.” He unties the boat and rows them out to the middle of the shining lake.

A hush falls over them as they watch the setting sun. It doesn’t last long.

“Wow,” Jaskier breathes. “I’ve seen so many sunsets, and you know? It never gets old. Not ever.”

Geralt hums and looks at the sky, dark blue bleeding in as the red disappears into the horizon. He finds he’s inclined to agree.

“I have to say, I have another motive for bringing you out here.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Shush. Let’s wait for a little bit longer. When your star has finally gotten a bit of rest.” And, for a moment, Geralt doesn’t understand what Jaskier means by _your star._ It’s startling to realize that all he meant was the sun.

They listen to the sound of water lapping at the edge of the boat while the sun finally dips, casting the sky in a brilliant darkness.

Geralt looks upwards. For the first time in years, he really sees the stars. The subtle belts of color across the sky and the cluster of stars together.

“This is good.” Jaskier sits next to him and points upwards. “Time for a history lesson. Are you ready?”

He nods.

“Good.” There are so many more constellations in the night sky that Geralt could have imagined, all with real stories behind them. Though, if the stars that weaved the patterns together are anything like Jaskier, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were more _exaggerated_ than what actually happened. Still, he listens closely to each one and occasionally interjects to ask questions about some of the more interesting stars. One he finds particularly noteworthy is the most recent constellation about a powerful sorceress taking down an entire army with a wave of her hands.

Geralt can’t say for sure he knows which sorceress it is, but he can wager a guess.

At the end of it, Jaskier moves from beside Geralt to stand at the front of the boat. “Would you like to see your constellation?”

“Don’t you have to fight your siblings first?”

Jaskier scoffs. “As if they stand a chance. I have the _only_ story worth telling.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again they are shining- he lifts his hands above his head before parting them a little. Stars hover between his palms, bright and buoyant. More stars blink into existence. A small galaxy dancing between Jaskier’s fingers.

“You see, witcher?” The biggest and most luminescent stars begin to move in a new formation. Geralt recognizes the shape. The white wolf, as Jaskier has promised. “One day soon this will be for you. For all the world to see.”

The eye of the wolf draws his attention.

It’s more than he deserves. “Jaskier…”

Jaskier drops his hands and the stars begin to pop like soap bubbles. He plops down next to Geralt once more and lets out a tired sigh. “Can’t do that little light show so often. Takes a lot of power.”

Geralt frowns. “Why not save it for an audience?”

The star leans his head against his shoulder. And though Geralt can’t see his expression, he can hear in Jaskier’s voice that he’s smiling. “An audience of one is sometimes the worthiest, you ridiculous thing. Now, row us back to shore. Sleep is waiting for me.”

-

The next town is likely their last, Geralt knows. He had quietly been hoping for something good for Jaskier. It’s not what’s important for a witcher, but Jaskier will want something more dramatic to end his tale.

What he gets, however, is a run of the mill contract.

“Kill it, witcher. And you’ll get your coin.”

“Is that really anyway to speak to the white wolf, Geralt of Rivia?” Jaskier steps forward, hands on hips. “This man is about to go down in history! Which side do you want to be on, good sir?”

“The one where the fucking troll is dead,” the mayor sneers. “It’s scaring away all the travelers. Not good for business.”

A scoff. “Yes, I’m sure your charming demeanor brings everyone in by the droves. Ugh. Let’s go, Geralt. Before his hateful attitude rubs off on us.”

Geralt lifts a brow but follows after Jaskier. This would be the fourth- no, the fifth hunt that they’ve gone on together. The star has made his best efforts trying to get Geralt the money and respect he insists the witcher deserves but hasn’t had much luck outside of threatening people with his power.

“It will all change with my story. How you’ve bested monsters, used your wits and senses to track them down! And so gracious is the white wolf that he helped the needy, and-“

“Helped the needy?” Geralt says with a scoff.

Jaskier turns so he’s walking backwards. “Yes. Helping the needy. Don’t think I didn’t see you slip some of your earnings to that family, Geralt. As if you don’t need the money yourself. Goodness.”

Geralt shifts uncomfortably. He has no idea how Jaskier knew about that, especially when he himself nearly forgot about it. “Don’t twist your story.”

“Twisting, he says. I didn’t even talk about the sweep of your grand blade yet,” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows and Geralt nearly shoves him over. “Though trolls are a bit trickier, eh?”

“Hm.”

Tricky is a good word for it.

The rock troll has a small camp outside of the trading village.

Trolls are sentient creatures, Geralt knows. They have a basic understanding of language and morals. So he speaks with the troll first about the people they attacked.

It’s an unsurprising tale of how villagers would see something different and attack. The troll was just defending themself.

“But that’s ridiculous!” Jaskier exclaims as they walk back to the village. “How can people do that! Absolutely horrid.”

“You’ve been watching humanity for generations. Does this really come as a surprise?”

Jaskier scowls. “I’ve seen how good people can be. And I know they sometimes do what it takes to survive but this is just! Senseless! Ugh!” He throws his hands in the air.

The senselessness continues when Geralt tells what happened with the troll. How he told the troll to move from his land to somewhere without humans. And then Geralt tells the mayor that if anyone else goes after it, they will have to go through him. The witcher promises him that.

Jaskier and Geralt leave, unpaid and hardly satisfied.

It’s not the conclusion either of them wanted.

That’s the real nature of the Path.

**-**

“I have my story,” Jaskier says quietly. “It’s so much better than I ever could have imagined.”

They’re standing in a field, much like the one where they first met. Minus the crater, of course. Geralt knew this day was coming. But Jaskier is at least two days early. Where has all the time gone?

“Right.” He nods his head sharply. “Where… where will you be?”

Jaskier smiles, but it’s not the bright thing he’s come to know. There’s a bittersweetness to it. He moves to stand beside Geralt, throws an arm around his shoulder, bringing him close. Then, he points to the sky. “See that small empty patch up there? That’s where I was just a few days before meeting you.”

“A few days?”

“It takes a bit of time to travel through space, Geralt.”

“Ah.”

His fingers move across the sky. “If all goes right, you’ll see the head of a wolf there. I’ll be the eye. Shining brightest in the night.” Slowly, he turns his head to look at Geralt. “Will you look for me, White Wolf? Will you allow me to guide your way?”

Again, he nods.

“I’ll be the brightest thanks to you. I’m sure of it.”

Geralt doesn’t think he has anything to do with Jaskier’s shine. He’s done that all on his own; it’s who he is.

“Could I trouble you for one more favor?”

“Can’t see how I can say no,” he drawls. “You don’t typically ask.”

Jaskier barks out a laugh. “Yes, well. You see. This one is a bit more intimate. I wanted… I’ve really grown to care for you Geralt. As more than a friend, I believe.”

It’s not a surprise. Geralt has seen it in his eyes, the shape of his smile, his warmth when he sits close enough. But he hasn’t allowed himself to act on it. Couldn’t Not with him being a witcher, Jaskier being a literal star, and the deadline hanging over their head. He waits, unable to answer. Not trusting himself. To.

“Would you kiss me? It’s one of the few… few human things I didn’t get to do. Following you around, playing music, sharing stories. It’s everything and _more_. But it’s funny!” And he laughs a little, his eyes shining. “I still want.”

“That’s very human of you.”

“I’ve been watching all of you for so long, it’s no wonder I’d pick up a few things, hm?” He turns to face Geralt properly, placing a hand on his cheek. “So indulge me again? Kiss me before I tell your story?”

There’s a part of him that wonders if he says no he can somehow convince the star to stay on the ground. To drink in more of what life has. A kiss is a prologue, a promise. Ending his time on the Continent with something like that feels like he’d be cheating Jaskier. But no convincing or argument could stop nature from doing what it’s meant to do. Especially if the one to argue it is Geralt.

So he covers Jaskier’s hand with his own and nods. “Kiss me, then.”

Jaskier’s smile turns watery before he leans in closer. With his lips just a breath away he says, “You’ll forgive me if I’m bad at this I hope.”

“Just don’t keep me waiting.”

A puff of air against his mouth. “I think I’m worth waiting for.”

Geralt pulls him closer and kisses him. It’s chaste. Simple. Warm. That’s all it needs to be, really. A send off. And with the slide of his lips against Jaskier’s he realizes something: that this is a goodbye. The only one he’s going to get. He curses the drama of it all, wishes that he thought of something meaningful to say.

All that worry fucks him over. Behind his eyelids, he can tell that there’s a bit of light. It grows brighter and brighter. Geralt’s hold on Jaskier’s waist disappears. There’s a rush of wind.

And then he’s alone.

Above, the stars look no different. They sit in clusters, making up constellations he previously thought humans had designed. He knows better now. It would take time, he knows, before there would be any change. Jaskier said it could take weeks. Months, maybe.

He knows Jaskier will keep his promise and that one day soon he’d see a wolf among the stars.

Geralt can’t quite decide yet how it will make him feel. His story, for all to see. But it wasn’t just his. Jaskier helped shape it. He saw Geralt for who he was, despite all the careful barriers he had built up and in such a short amount of time.

If given time, Geralt could build them up once more. Keep everyone at arm’s length like a witcher is supposed to do.

As he turns towards the Path once more, he thinks that he might do things a little differently now. Make choices for himself in a way he never could when he can.

-

**3 months later**

Geralt is staring at the stars. For the past few nights, he’s been hoping to see the moment when the constellation took form. He knows it should be any day now. At least, according to Jaskier.

Laying down on the grass with his arms crossed under his head, he finds himself at peace. He’s not meditating- not quite. Mostly, he’s recounting the stories that the stars tell him. The one of the lovers from a five hundred years ago, the queen who ran into war with a sword raised, and even of the sorceress from the last shift in the night sky. 

Ever since Jaskier left, Geralt finds himself recounting the stories in times of silence. They greet him like old friends. Is this what the stars aim to do? Not only immortalize, but to give comfort to those below?

It’s a nice thought. Naïve, too. Geralt will have to shed himself of these flights of fancy before he returns to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He’ll still be telling his brothers how a star came and found him.

Lambert is going to be jealous as hell.

Geralt smiles as he pictures his brothers expression.

Maybe they will have already heard the stories about him. Echoes of Jaskier following him wherever he goes, even before he’s lighting up the night sky.

Though he was with Geralt for such a short amount of time, it feels like something is missing now. Like Jaskier will turn round a corner with new clothes, or getting himself into trouble by threatening someone without understanding the consequences, or even just running up to Geralt with a smile.

He never thought he’d miss someone so much.

That’s why he finds himself watching the stars tonight. It’s as close as he can get. And he likes to believe that Jaskier is looking for him too.

Something in the sky seems to move. Geralt gets more comfortable. This, he knows, is something that only happens once a century. He waits for the stars to rearrange into a new shape. But instead of the cluster he was expecting, there’s a single one that glows brighter and brighter. Is that part of the process?

When he realizes that the star is not just shining bright, it’s getting _bigger,_ he stands. His eyes widen as he sees the star grow closer and closer setting the sky alight with it’s brilliance.

The star is falling, and it’s falling towards him.

As the star streaks overhead, Geralt is already following its trail across the sky. He’s running as fast as he can. Nearly stumbles and splits his head open when the ground trembles beneath him.

There was no one else it could be but Jaskier laying about in a crater, silver silken doublet covered in dust, dirt, and ash. “Geralt!” He calls out, scrambling up the side of the crevice.

Geralt reaches out a hand and pulls him upwards then close. He kisses Jaskier, breathing him in. His hands clutch at the back of his doublet. Even with Jaskier’s mouth otherwise occupied, Geralt can already hear the complaints of him wrinkling the fine material. He’ll listen to it all and thinks he might actually get a chance to do so.

Though neither of them are quite human, they still need to breathe. Geralt pulls away slowly, reluctantly, teeth still biting into Jaskier’s lower lip. Those kiss swollen lips are stretched out into a smile. “Now that’s what I call a warm welcome.”

“What are you doing here?”

Jaskier throws his head back and laughs. “Did I say warm welcome? I meant lukewarm. You’ll have to forgive me,” He circles his arms around Geralt’s neck. “Do you know the thought of telling one story for the rest of my life pains me?”

“Does it?” Geralt looks at Jaskier, his eyes flicking downward. Jaskier pinches his neck, but it’s more an annoyance than an actual pain.

“Pay attention. Yes, it pains me. I saw the way that the bards told hundreds of stories. Stories that the mortals here knew by heart. Not like the forgotten, ancient words of my brethren.” Jaskier sighs happily. “And the lute… Geralt, the lute is magnificent. I have to learn how to play it! Have one of my own and _sing._ Two weeks is simply not enough. There’s just so much more left in me. And so much more in store for you.”

He frowns and tilts his head.

“I’ve seen the way you are. Truly. And I am going to have the entire Continent sing your praises by the next spring. Mark my words.” Jaskier leans in a little closer.

“Hm. Is that why you came back?” Geralt smiles, closer now, but not enough to close the distance. “To tell more stories.”

“You know?” Jaskier grins. “Yes. Including my own.” He tilts his head, eyes glittering with mirth. “Will you be part of my story, witcher?”

Geralt never needed his story told. Never looked for or wanted infamy. He thought he would live, work, and die as a witcher. But being a part of someone’s life and forging his own path? That’s an adventure worth taking.

And as they walk away, they miss the phenomenon only few know to look for: the stars taking shape of a new story. This time, it’s in the shape of a wolf in front of a lute, telling the story of how a star and a witcher taught one another about life on the continent.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!!!!! i really hope you liked it. I can't believe i have something that's finished ready for y'all. pls follow @arodoesnthavealife/@help-idontknowwhattodraw for more beautiful artwork and keep an eye out for more amazing reverse bangs :3 <3 
> 
> xoxoxo


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